


The Damage is Done

by messageredacted



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-14
Updated: 2012-01-14
Packaged: 2017-10-29 13:15:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 933
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/320311
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/messageredacted/pseuds/messageredacted
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kinkmeme Prompt: <i>The first thing John does is apologize. "I should never have let him take me, I should have known." Sherlock realizes what John is really saying is "I am sorry I came into your life, mucked this situation up and made you care about someone."</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	The Damage is Done

**Author's Note:**

> Originally written on 17 August 2010.

All John can hear is the explosion in his ears, constant and unending. It fills his head, pressing against the inside of his skull, and when he has a moment for conscious thought he thinks _I am stuck in this moment forever_ and he thinks this is what hell must be like.

It is like drowning. He is thrashing up through the noise, up through this clinging unconsciousness, and he can almost taste the chlorine. He kicks his legs and tosses back his head and breaks through the surface and takes in a breath—

His eyes open to the ceiling of a hospital room. He is contorted against the pillow, his hands fisted in the sheets. There is a fast beeping: his heart monitor. There is a ringing in his ears. He can still taste the chlorine.

Someone shifts, fabric rustling. John sucks in air in short gasps, blinking at the ceiling. His brain is taking a second to catch up to reality. A second ago, the pool. Now—

“You’ve been unconscious for three days,” says Sherlock, his face coming into view. His hair hangs down in unruly curls and there is a fading bruise on one side of his face.

“Sherlock—” John croaks, his throat raw. He uncurls his fingers and reaches out to reassure himself that this is real. Sherlock catches John’s fingers in his own cool grip.

“We all survived,” Sherlock adds, one corner of his mouth curling up. “Improbably.”

John squeezes Sherlock’s fingers, unable to help himself. His heart rate is slowing down a little and his muscles uncramp enough for him to sink back against the pillows again.

“Moriarty?”

John catches the flicker in Sherlock’s expression. “Not a trace of him.”

John takes in a breath and lets it out slowly. Now that he’s more conscious, he can see that they’re in a private hospital room. Sherlock is wearing his pajamas and dressing gown, which someone must have brought for him. Mycroft, probably. There is a hospital bracelet around Sherlock’s wrist. Sherlock is watching John take in the details. He lets go of John’s hand and returns to a chair in the corner of the room, where he must have been sitting for quite a while. John’s laptop is sitting open on the windowsill and there is a pile of newspapers on the floor.

“The last thing I remember is you pulling the trigger,” John says, frowning. The memory is hazy.

“You don’t remember the pool? Interesting.” Sherlock drops down into the chair and then winces, stiffening.

John tries to push himself up on his elbows, then abandons the attempt when his side flares in pain. “I…pushed you in, didn’t I?”

“Yes.” Sherlock leans over the laptop. “I was going to jump in anyway.”

John can’t help but smile. “You’re welcome.”

Sherlock nods once without looking up. John lets his head drop back against the pillow. His ears are still ringing faintly. He blinks and remembers, suddenly and with perfect clarity, the red dot of the laser site appearing on Sherlock’s forehead. The heart monitor blips.

“They got me just outside the flat,” John says quietly, his eyes wandering over the far wall without seeing it. “Two men in a car. They had guns. I should have been paying more attention. Should have been expecting it.”

He shifts his head towards Sherlock. Sherlock is watching him out of the corner of his eye.

“We knew he was targeting you personally. It should have occurred to me that…” John hesitates. _That Moriarty would take someone close to you_. “That he would take someone you knew.”

Sherlock does not answer. His eyes are back on the laptop.

“Sorry,” John adds.

The room is silent. In the hall, two nurses walk by, chattering brightly. Sherlock types something into the laptop, his long fingers moving quickly. The beep of the heart monitor settles into a slower pace. John sighs.

“Did you ask yourself why he targeted me now?” Sherlock says suddenly.

“Pardon?”

“He’s obviously been watching me for some time. Why now?”

John stares at him. “He needed time to set up his game?”

“For a man that clever…” Sherlock shakes his head briefly. “No.”

John thinks back. “Something set him off. He was waiting for…something.”

“What’s new in my life?”

“The flat. Mrs. Hudson. Me.”

“I’ve had other flatmates.”

“Then…”

“But never other colleagues.”

 _I’m going to burn the heart out of you._

John watches Sherlock type. Sherlock still isn’t looking at him.

 _I’ve been reliably informed that I don’t have one._

“When I moved in with you, I put you in danger.”

Sherlock’s fingers pause on the keys. “Yes,” he says.

“I could move out.”

There is another pause. Sherlock closes the laptop and stands. “Don’t be daft. I could never afford the flat if you moved out.”

John has nothing to say to that. Sherlock fusses with the cuffs on his dressing gown, then starts for the door of the room.

“Sherlock—”

“It doesn’t matter,” Sherlock interrupts, as if he already knows what John is going to say, even though John himself doesn’t know. “The damage is already done.”

“He already won,” John croaks, his heart sinking.

Sherlock stops on the other side of John’s bed. He looks down at John with clear grey eyes, looking suddenly frustrated with John’s inability to infer his meaning.

“ _I already care,_ ” he says.

“Oh,” John says faintly.

Sherlock starts to turn away, then stops. He reaches out and touches John’s hand where it lays on the coverlet, just a brief press of fingers. Then he turns away and is gone.


End file.
